Looking Forward
by thelastbumblebee
Summary: A collection of Turnadette one-shots based on the previous fic Mixed Emotions. Note: this will make no sense if you haven't read Mixed Emotions! Rated T for language and a bit of fluff
1. Chapter 1

**_Ladies and Gentlemen, as promised – the first of my one shots to follow on from Mixed Emotions!_**

**_This one-shot is more Turnadette than CTM, I realised that I had never done a Christmas fic in ME so crack open the bucks fizz and whack the Slade on – because .. IT'S CHRIIIIIIIISTMAAAAAAAAS!_**

**_This chapter's song is:  
I wish I could be James Bond – Scouting for Girls_**

**_Enjoy x_**

* * *

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen – this is your captain speaking. If we have any doctors or nurses on board the flight today – please let yourself be known to a member of the cabin crew. Thank you."

Shelagh put down her book and glanced at Patrick beside her, who was staring down the aisle over the top of his paper, he turned slightly to look at his wife,

"There must be someone else on board Shelagh." she glanced around her at the small aeroplane and bit her lip.

"Oh god, why is it always us! Do you think we should?"

"No. Shelagh no – if it was an emergency they would have turned the plane around and gone back to Gatwick, it'll be someone who's travel sick love." He said, burying his face in the Guardian and trying to ignore the whispering passengers around him who were all curious about what was going on. After a few minutes, by which point most passengers were convinced that the required medical assistance had been found, one of the cabin crew came over the tannoy:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the cabin crew speaking … this is another call for any doctors or nurses on board to make themselves known to any of the cabin crew team."

Putting down his paper and looking at Shelagh, who was staring intently at the same spot in her book, Patrick sighed,

"I suppose we'll have to then. Shelagh?"

"Och fine." dog earing her page she slotted the book into the seat back pocket and unbuckled her seatbelt, Patrick stood up slowly and threw his paper onto his seat, letting Shelagh past him Patrick turned back slightly.

"Tim, watch your sister."

"What? Where are you two going?" The teenager replied, pulling his ear phones out and looking puzzledly at his father,

"They need a doctor – just keep an eye, we'll be back in a second." he said with a weary smile at his son as he followed his wife down to the galley. As they reached the small metal cubbyhole they found a member of the cabin crew leant against the side, breathing heavily and noisily,

"Oh, are you medics?!" asked a panicked looking young man.

"I'm a doctor."

"I'm a nurse."

"And you know each other?"

"We're married." They answered in unison, bending down slightly to see the young woman's face Shelagh smiled,

"Hello, what's your name?"

"K … Ke … Kelly."

"Hello Kelly, I'm Shelagh. You're having trouble breathing?"

"Mmhmm."

"Right, are you asthmatic?"

"Y… yes."

"Ok, and have you got an inhaler on the plane?"

"Ba … ag."

"In your bag? OK." Standing up straighter Shelagh turned to the assembled cabin crew, "Right, first of all, who knows where her bag is? Ok – can you get it for me please? Thank you. Secondly – we really don't need all of you do we. Give the lass some space to breath." she said brusquely. As the small crowd dissipated Shelagh gave Kelly a glass of water and waited for Patrick to hunt around in her flight bag before handing over the small plastic tube to the young woman. Crisis averted, and having been thanked profusely by the cabin crew Patrick and Shelagh made their way back to their seats where Tim was sat looking eagerly for them to get his fill of gossip.

"Six years in medical school and all so that I can hunt around in a woman's handbag to find her inhaler."

"I know I know … I'm not sure why that needed medical professionals to fix but … you know, it's nice to be wanted!"

* * *

Sitting in the back bedroom of Molly's small terrace in Aberdeen, Patrick stretched out on the bed. It had been a while since he and his wife had visited her family in Aberdeen and he had forgotten about the bed and a half in the spare room. Not that he minded having to sleep closer to Shelagh as he had muttered to her after Molly had repeatedly apologised about the size of the bed. Nina had slept for most of the flight thankfully, until they had started to land, when the air pressure meant that she had woken up screaming, and had yet to really settle. However Molly was so happy to see her niece that she had volunteered to sooth her and had kidnapped her to the kitchen while Tim went to brood in the garden and text his, now official, girlfriend, and Patrick and Shelagh unpacked.

"Patrick?"

"Mmhmm love?"

"Do you like this dress?" She asked, holding the dress against herself and looking critically at her reflection in the mirror,

"Uh – yeah I suppose, it's quite pretty."

"Mmm – I was going to wear it to the wedding but now I'm worried it make me look a bit … matronly."

"Wedding? What wedding?"

"Cynthia's wedding, in April."

"Love that's four months away … it's next year!"

"I know I know … I was just thinking." Shelagh replied, throwing it over the back of the chair and lay down beside her husband, curling up into the crook of his arm.

"About?"

"How much I enjoyed marrying you."

"It _was_ a good day wasn't it."

"It was, well done us! You know it was where Cynthia and Miroslav met?"

"Mmm, he was telling me that he spilt her drink and bought her a replacement."

"It was a free bar."

"I know, I think he has a slightly odd sense of humour."

"He's eastern European – they often do."

* * *

Shelagh pushed the doorbell and took a step back, she hadn't seen her father's new home; a warden controlled bungalow in a small estate of similar bungalows, everywhere was covered in bright white handrails along the pavement and up the short paths to the houses. Taking a step back she pushed her glasses up her nose with gloved hands and pushed them deep into her coat pockets to keep them from the sharp wind, after a moment the door opened slowly to reveal her father, stood in his slippers and looking weary.

"Shelagh! Och, you should have telephoned."

"I wanted to surprise you! How are you?"

"Can't complain, can't complain – come in now. Where's the bairn?"

"With Patrick at Molly's, I wanted a proper catch up and she doesn't really let you do that very well."

"Oh I remember those days, the three of you at home – me and Catriona couldn't get a thing done!"

"Yes yes, and Patrick reassures me that it'll only get worse once she's wreaking havoc around the house."

"Oh aye it will, how is Patrick?"

"Fine fine, pleased to have some time off work finally, and I imagine he'll be pleased when I go back to work full time and he can see a bit more of me."

"Missing you is he? Did you want tea?"

"I'll make it."

"No no, you have a seat – it's a father's prerogative to make his girl tea when she vists. So – you and Patrick?"

"Hmm? Oh … no no we're _fine._ It's just, the only time we actually spend together talking about anything other than nursery schools and Tim's exams is when we're at work together."

"You two sound like you need a break away together."

"Well, that's what this is I suppose."

"Maybe you should talk to Molly, take yourselves off and have a day away from the city?"

"Maybe … we'll see. Anyway – how's life in the exciting world of sheltered accommodation?"

"Oh thrilling! I've got a sweepstake going on how long it takes Raymond the security guard to answer the emergency buzzers."

"Of course you do Dad, how much have you won so far?"

"Well, enough for a round or three at the pub on Christmas eve that's for certain."

* * *

_I've seen you walk the screen, it's you that I adore. Since I was a boy I've wanted to be like Roger Moore. A girl in every port, and gadgets up my sleeve. The world is not enough for the both of us it seems. So I wish I was James Bond, just for the day. Kissing all the girls, blow the bad guys away. And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day. Kissing all the girls, blow the bad guys away. Hello Mr Bond, I've been expecting you. Martini in your hand, and that eyebrow that you move. Don't take this the wrong way, I know it might sound odd. I'm the next double 0, I'm the right man for the job._

The pub was packed with families out for a last moment of rest bite before the festivities of Christmas day descended. The bar was full and Shelagh used her size and stealth to get up against the wooden top and leant in until she caught the eye of the bar-man who after a moment smiled broadly and walked across to her,

"Shelagh? Shelagh – how are you? I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Sean, it's been too long, I'm well – you?"

"Och fine, are you back for good or just for Christmas?"

"Just Christmas, I'm still living in London. I got married and I'm working as a midwife now."

"Oh aye, your Dad said you'd got married a while back … not to that lad you left with?"

"No! God no, no me and Patrick met at work, we've been married coming up to two years in the spring, that's him in the … in the Christmas jumper." she added, pointing behind her before turning back with a slight eye roll.

"Och that's great, so any bairns?"

"Two, Tim and Nina."

"Well I'm pleased for you Shelagh, I really am, so – what'll it be?"

"A pint of … Scapa Special, a cherryade and a pint of Thistly Cross for me. Oh and can you put some tap water in this? Thanks." Handing over Nina's cup with a smile as she dug her purse out of the back of her jeans and started fishing about in the heaped receipts and shrapnel that she seemed to collect accidentally. Sean returned with the drinks and the plastic cup pinned between his elbow and his waist and placed them onto the counter, raising a hand briefly he smiled,

"No no, my shout. A welcome home."

"Oh … thank you Sean! Are you sure?"

"Aye. I'll see you in a bit now." clamping the spout of Nina's cup between her teeth Shelagh carried the trio of glasses back to the corner table which Patrick had secured just as her father, Molly and the rest of the clan walked in through the door. She raised a quick wave to catch their attention as they passed on towards the bar, flopping down beside her husband she passed over his bitter and slid Tim's cherryade across the table before sighing and taking a deep sip of her cider.

"Thanks love … who's that?"

"Who's who?"

"The bar-man you were chatting to before."

"Oh Sean, he was a few years ahead of me in school – started working here when I was about 16, we've known each other for years but we haven't seen each other really since I moved to London."

"Oh … that's nice."

"Yeah, Dad told him I'd got married – so he was asking about you."

"Oh?"

"Well, more making sure that you weren't my ex."

"What?" Asked Tim, sitting bolt upright and putting down his phone momentarily, "You had a boyfriend before dad?!"

"Uh – yes! Of course I did Tim, what did you think I was just hanging round in a tower waiting for your Dad to come and rescue me?"

"No but … that's so weird, I just think of you two together!"

"Well that's very sweet, but no – I did have a life before your Dad, with an artist no less! When I was working as an A&E nurse with Miroslav."

"Oh yeah … I think Miroslav mentioned him once … he said he was all fur coat and no mouth?"

"Did he? Well – I think that's Miroslav mixing his metaphors there, but that is pretty much what Chris was like. He also found monogamy a difficult concept to comprehend."

"Oh … sorry."

"It's Ok, I've got your Dad now, and I'm sure Chris is living his troubled artistic existence quite happily elsewhere." Patrick shot Shelagh a smile before continuing as Tim returned to his mobile,

"So … you and Sean?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Well … I mean he's a nice looking bloke."

"You think? Well go over and ask him out! I think you're more his type that I ever would be."

"What? Oh … oh!"

"Yes Patrick, yes … gaydar need recalibrating perhaps? You're paranoid."

"I'm not I just … wondered."

"Well don't, you're just being silly … if it makes you feel any better if I ever have an affair, you'll be the first to know."

"Excellent, likewise love."

"Good … now, shall we have some crisps?"

* * *

Shealgh awoke with a start, she wasn't sure if it was something in her dream or something in the house which had woken her – but whatever it was it hadn't stirred Patrick. He lay a little further back from her, his hand outstretched and resting gently on her hip and she could feel the weight and smoothness of his wedding ring against her skin. Shifting slightly he took back his hand as Shelagh arched to see the alarm clock beside her; 06:03. Too early to be up but now she was awake she was suddenly acutely aware that she needed the toilet, she tried not to wake Patrick as she sat up and swung out of the bed, slipping on her glasses and pulling a cardigan over her pyjamas.

The house was silent as she slipped into the bathroom and she wondered how much longer she could manage asleep until she was required to have the lively Christmas that small children dictate. Having washed her hands she peered at her reflection in the full length mirror that someone had cruelly placed on the back of the bathroom door, her face looked tired, although she tried to convince herself that that was having a baby under the age of one as opposed to age. Stretching upwards to unlock her back and neck pulled up her t-shirt, exposing the pale silver of the few stretch marks that still peppered her stomach and hips. They were fading slowly but surely although she didn't mind them so much anymore, like the thin lilac-silver that ran down the side of her face from the mugging so many years before, it had become part of her history, painted over her body and telling it's story.

As she stepped onto the landing, ready to turn back to her bed she spotted the soft amber glow of light creeping up the stairs. She wondered if it were her nephews, but their semi closed door seemed to show a dark and undisturbed room within told her that they were still fast asleep, wrapping her cardigan closer around herself she padded down the stairs. The source of the light was the kitchen, seeping around the door and filtering up through the house, pushing the door open gently Shelagh was confronted with the sight of Molly, knelt on a kitchen chair in front of the sink violently plunging a goose into water. Jumping at the creak of the door Molly spun around, eyes crazed and her hair jutting up at angled where she had pushed it back off her face,

"Molly … what are you doing?"

"It's still frozen Shelagh! It's still bloody frozen!" she hissed desperately. Shelagh cocked an eyebrow as she stifled a smile and pushed her glasses up her nose.

"When did you take it out of the freezer Molls?"

"Two days ago."

"Right, and what's still frozen?"

"The bloody goose Shelagh!"

"No … I meant is the whole thing still frozen or just the inside?"

"Oh … the outside is thawed but everything else is like a brick! See!" She added lifting the bird out of the sink and dumping it into her sister's hands,

"Shit! Right … that is quite frozen isn't it … Ok … right. Fill the whole sink up with water, and stick it in … we'll put in the oven early at 350 to try and sort it out. What about a starter?"

"What?" replied Molly over her shoulder, draining the sink and refilling it with water.

"A starter, so we've got more time to cook the goose."

"Brilliant! No … I haven't, look in the freezer – see what you can find."

"I'll stick the kettle on too shall I?"

"Superstar!" Shelagh walked over to the freezer and stared into its icy depths, sorting through the frozen pre-made meals, and long forgotten frozen peas. She pulled out a packet of prawns and threw them onto the kitchen table, turning to the fridge she had a sort through the salad drawer,

"Have you got ketchup?"

"Yeah – top cupboard."

"Mayonaise?"

"Probably – why?"

"Prawn cocktail!"

"You're a genius Shelagh! Ay – bugger the tea, where's that bottle of wine? It's going to be a long day."

"It's 6:30 in the morning Molls!"

"It's Christmas, now pass me the bottle opener."

* * *

"I always quite fancied myself as a spy?"

"What? The name's Turner. Patrick Turner. You mean?"

"Yeah I think I'd make a good 007, would you be my Vesper Lynd?"

"No – I always thought that Q had the right idea, all the gadgets and fun stuff and none of that rolling about on train roofs malarkey."

"You wouldn't want the casinos and cocktails?"

"Och no, that wouldn't do it for me. I mean the cocktails yes, but all that skiing and underground lairs? No, give me the cars and the laser pens any day … Which Bond would you be?"

"Roger Moore, no contest. He was so suave and cool."

"Not Sean Connery?"

"No! Who'd want to be Sean Connery?"

"He was pretty cool!"

"No love, no – Sean Connery was not cool. Roger Moore was Cool, Piers Brosnan was quite cool – Sean Connery was not cool."

"But … that voice Patrick, that voice …"

"You're just biased."

"Aye – got to love a Scotsman."

"And yet you ended up with an Englishman?"

"You'll do I suppose, in the absence of a suitable Scot."

* * *

Shelagh swept her hair back and moved over, catching her breath and disentangling herself from Patrick she pulled her skirt down and looked over to see Patrick beside her on the sofa. He was similarly out of breath as he reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead and pulled his shirt closed, through gasps he laughed;

"I feel … like a naughty school boy." stifling a laugh and adjusting her glasses Shelagh put her palm against her chest, convinced that she could see her ribs bound with each heartbeat, passion mixed with the terror of the family coming home from their Christmas walk to collect her father made her heart race.

"Tea?" She asked,

"Oh – yes please love, I'll give you a hand."

"As long as you keep your hands to yourself."

"I can't make any promises." he replied putting his hands around her waist and kissing her neck, warm and flushed, she flicked the kettle on and turned around to face him, lacing her arms around his neck and reaching up for a kiss. She felt him move his arms so his palms were against her waist, holding her tightly as she stepped back against the counter and he lifted her slightly so that she was sat on the edge. Moving in tight so that his chest was against hers Patrick moved to kiss along her neck again as she ran a hand through his hair, a loud bang behind him made them both jump and separate. Hopping down from the counter Shelagh buried her head in the cupboard,

"Who's for tea?" she called back, adjusting her jumper as she spoke, a chorus of voices came back to her and she fished a stack of mugs off the shelf. First into the kitchen was Molly, peering at the oven before looking up with a smile, glancing between the couple she raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice.

"Right … I don't care what you've done or where. As long as you've wiped it down afterwards."

* * *

Patrick flicked on the kettle and threw himself down on one of the kitchen chairs; the flight had been delayed, Nina had refused to settle and then the airport had misplaced their luggage, which meant that Nina's pram and all their bags had taken an hour to materialise at baggage reclaim. Exhausted and fed up, he had been relegated to making the tea while Shelagh and Tim sorted out Nina and the luggage, the kettle came to the boil as Shelagh walked in with a weary smile.

"I'm shattered." She said joining him at the table and swinging her legs up to his lap, "Is the kettle on?"

"It's just gone … I suppose I couldn't persuade you to make the tea could I?"

"No. It's your turn."

"It's not, definitely your turn."

"Urgh, slave driver." she replied, dropping her legs back onto the floor and walking across the kitchen. Patrick stretched back in the chair and watched his wife pottering,

"I was speaking to your father on Christmas day you know."

"Oh? Should I be worried, are you getting rid of me?"

"Not as long as you hurry up with that cup of tea. No, he was talking about Tim and Nina and us."

"Good things?"

"Good things, he was saying how much being a mother suits you."

"Well it's a bit late in the day if it didn't suit me isn't it. Mince pie?"

"Christ no, I've had enough mince pies to last a life time! He was asking me if we were going to have another baby?"

"What? Did you tell him I've only just recovered from the sleep deprivation from Nina?!"

"I think he just enjoys seeing you happy."

"I'm happy with my baby girl and my two boys."

"So you wouldn't want another?"

"Patrick … what?"

"Nothing. Nothing I didn't mean anything I was just … putting it out there."

"I mean … Why?"

"Because … I love you, and … I don't know. I suppose your Dad just got me thinking."

"It's not like you to brood Patrick." She replied, handing over his mug of tea and sitting down opposite her husband again,

"It's exactly like me to brood!"

"Well … yes – but not about this kind of thing. Patrick – I'm happy, I've never been happier in my life. I've got a wonderful son, a brilliant daughter and you."

"Don't I get an adjective?"

"Sorry, you're _fabulous_! But that's enough for me, you three and my job and my friends. I'm happy."

"Then I'm happy that you're happy." he replied with a smile.

"And now – I'm going to phone my Dad, and kill him for putting ideas in your head and making you brood."

"Are you being chivalrous and defending my honour love?"

"I am, no one puts my man in the corner!"


	2. Chapter 2

**_Hi de di! Here is my second one shot – sorry it's taken so long to get out! _**

**_This un-intentionally became a bit of a downer chapter, but I like to think the ending makes up for it a little. _**

**_For the record – the last part is unintentionally vague: I'll let you make your own minds up as to whether Shelagh's there._**

**_Thank you as always for the fabulous reviews – you are all stars, and please do continue!_**

**__****This chapters songs are:**  
**Son of a preacher man – D**usty Springfield  
A well respected man - The Kinks  
Love how it hurts – Scouting for Girls 

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

_"It is a … quarter past 3 in the morning, and you're listening to the Dark Lord, Alex Lester here on BBC radio 2, keeping all the night owls awake…"_

_Billy-Ray was a preacher's son__ and when his daddy would visit he'd come along. When they gathered round and started talkin', that's when Billy would take me walkin', a-through the backyard we'd go walkin'. Then he'd look into my eyes, lord knows to my surprise. The only one who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man_

Reading the back of the packet as her bowl of pasta revolved around the microwave, Shelagh stifled a yawn and decided that a strong cup of coffee was in order. Standing up she felt her back tighten and stretched out onto tip-toes, pointing her fingertips to the ceiling, she had just spent the best part of two hours bent double over the bed, with a baby who didn't seem overly keen on being born. The microwave pinged and she rescued her bubbling pasta,

"Hi, how's your night going?" asked Cynthia, walking into the staff room and pulling on a hoodie.

"Long and fruitless – I've just sent my lady through for a c-section. Yours?"

"Long but successful, bloody massive though – 10lb 4!"

"Good God on highland! How is she?"

"More suture than perineum but she'll live, Dad's big, and she's pretty tall so it was never going to be a tiny one. Coffee? Did you have any stitches?"

"Please. No – I didn't get stitched, but it was a long labour and Nina was small."

"Well I suppose you're little aren't you, and Patrick's hardly Hulk Hogan."

"Very true – you'll be buggered, Miroslav's tall – and broad."

"I like to think I'll counteract Miroslav and we'll have an average sized baby."

"How is Miroslav? Is he enjoying the wedding preparations?"

"Umm … I think he likes the big things – like the cars and the food and the cake. I'm struggling to get him excited about napkins."

"No-one gets excited about napkins Cynthia, the guests wont care on the night – and you'll be too drunk to care by the time you see them."

"You think?"

"Pick a colour you like, and something non-descript that no-one can hate and you're sorted."

"You're so wise!"

"It's called experience; I can also tell you what colour clothes best hide baby vomit."

* * *

"I'll make sure HR get you a fob so you can let yourself in … uh, so these are our delivery suits, all equipped with a single bed, equipment for active delivery – and all have room and connection points to use one of our birthing pools – we've got two. Up ahead here we've got the nurses station, morning ladies." Said Dr Turner, nodding at the two woman who were sat behind the curving desk,

"Mornin' doc."

"Patrick."

"This is Dr Patience Mount, our new F1. And here we have two stalwarts of the maternity department; Trixie Franklin and Sister Julie Raymond." the young woman accompanied by Patrick smiled and shook both their hands.

"Good morning, and it's Patsy please – I think my parents were having a joke when they named me!" She replied with a dry laugh,

"Staff room's just behind the desk, and the door code's 1234 … we're not very imaginative here. And down to the left we've got Fred's cupboard."

"If you ever need _anything_ quickly in this place, then Fred's your man." Added Julie with a smile as she gathered up a pile of papers and disappeared off into her office,

"Just don't ask where he found it! Beyond that you've got paediatric intensive care, Tom Bowler's the consultant – I'll try and get you in there for a week if you like?"

"Thank you."

"Now … down over to the right," he continued as he led her away from the nurses station, "we've got the Sister's office – that's where you'll find Julie if you need anything. Staff toilets by here … uh … if you use the one on the right you need to thump the cistern on the top to make it flush. And then my office." he finished, pushing open his door and ushering Patsy in to the small room. "I share with my SHO Dan, he's away on a course for the next week. You can use his desk until he gets back … although I'm not sure where his chair's gone … you know, use my desk and I'll go and get you a cup of tea, or coffee?"

"Coffee please, no sugar."

"Of course – just a moment." Left alone in the office, Patsy unbuttoned her coat and flung it over Dr Turner's chair before sitting down and surveying his desk, there were various print outs of memos and notes and a stethoscope hanging off the in-tray. A BMI calculator was stuck to the edge of the computer alongside a gestational week wheel, amid the medical organised chaos were four photographs.

Two were inside a wooden frame and were almost mirrors of each other; one looked about ten or 15 years old, and featured a younger Dr Turner, with thicker and darker hair, on a younger and less lined face cradling a new born baby with a shock of messy dark hair that mirrored his own. The second photo that shared the frame was far more recent, with an older Dr Turner who's face she knew, holding another new born baby, this time with a soft halo of fair hair that he was brushing with his fingertips, he was perched on the edge of a hospital bed, the shoulder of the bed's official occupant just visible in the edge of the picture. The frame beside it held a professional looking picture, of Dr Turner in a suit, stood outside a church beside a bride. Picking it up for close inspection she could see that it was a younger woman, by the looks of it too young to be the mother of the older baby picture. Perhaps his daughter? Maybe the second picture was of his grand child, she wondered. The fourth picture was clearly new, printed out on paper and blu-tacked to the edge of the computer beside the BMI chart. A teenage boy with dark hair, who looked the spitting image of Dr Turner, sat beside a toddler on a sofa, both engrossed in a book, the same fair haired baby that she had seen before perhaps. Confused she stood up and went for a look around the office just as Dr Turner returned,

"Coffee, no sugar for you and tea for me. Now … you've met Trixie and Julie, then there's Cynthia; she's been here a while – she's really lovely and she can talk you through the natural birth process – she's a big advocate for that. Shelagh, she's … well she's wonderful, and she runs the Royston clinic as well – which I know was one of the reasons why you chose us. So I'll try and get you down there for a couple of shifts. Then there's uh … Sister Evangalina, she's … an excellent midwife. Probably … stay out of her way."

"Why? Is she that bad?"

"Uh … no no … she's just …" Dr Turner sighed and perched himself carefully on the edge of Dan's desk. "They say they found her in the foundations of the hospital when they were building it. She's always been here, and she is a fantastic midwife, but she can be a little … brusque – and aside from anything else she really doesn't believe in doctors. We have our place and it's in emergencies – as far as she's concerned doctor's shouldn't be checking in on labours. I think she'd still have men sat outside nervously if she could. I mean – everyone else is called by their first name, but not Sister Evangalina – I don't even know what her first name is."

"Ahh … might stay out of her way then."

* * *

Hanging up, Patrick pocketed his phone and dragged a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and fumbled for a lighter, slipping behind the wheelie bins to get to the fire escape he bent down to light up and looked up as he stepped into the clearing catching the eye of a fellow smoker.

"Dr Turner!" She said in shock, making a quick movement to hide her cigarette,

"Oh Patsy, hello – didn't know you partook?"

"Terrible habit, should give up … sorry."

"Why are you apologising, we're both out here for the same reason." he replied with a laugh. "Although as a doctor I in no way condone smoking!"

"Obviously."

"Now – I just spoke to Shelagh, she's happy to take you for a few shifts at the Royston. She's on nights at the moment, so she'll check her diary tonight and find you some interesting shifts to work."

"Oh thank you, although I didn't mean for you to bother her while she's on nights."

"It's fine – Nina was due her immunisations today – so she was awake."

"Nina's her daughter?"

"Mmm – she's … 13 months now."

"How sweet, gosh it must be hard – a baby and a full time job. I can barely manage it and I've got no responsibilities at all!"

"I know – she's brilliant, but it's easier now she's sleeping through – I can't believe we managed when she was new born!"

"Sorry? We?"

"Hmm? Oh! Sorry – Shelagh's my wife, Nina's our little girl."

"Oh I see, so the photographs on your desk … sorry, I wasn't prying."

"No it's OK – it's no secret. Yes, that's Shelagh and the baby girl's Nina, and the boy's my son Tim. He's coming up to 16 now."

"I see – so she's not his mother? Sorry I'm prying again …"

"You're not at all, no I was widowed. But Shelagh's brilliant – she's a fantastic step mum to Tim and a brilliant mum to Nina … she makes no distinctions, which is what I find the most admirable."

"She sounds like quite a woman."

"She is. I'm a lucky man."

* * *

_'Cause he gets up in the morning, and he goes to work at nine,and he comes back home at five-thirty. Gets the same train every time.'Cause his world is built 'round punctuality, it never fails. And he's oh, so good, and he's oh, so fine, and he's oh, so healthy in his body and his mind._

Patrick could hear the radio as soon as he opened the front door, as the smell of bolognaise drifted down the hallway he smiled and hung up his coat, as he turned around he was confronted with the smirking face of his son peeking out around the living room door.

"Evening Tim, you ok?"

"I'm fine – you're in trouble though!"

"Why? What have I done?"

"Shelagh's fuming with you, dunno why – but she's really pissed off."

"Oh god … what have I done?" Running a hand through his hair he gingerly walked into the kitchen where Shelagh was stirring a saucepan with the other hand squarely on her hip, she glanced up as he walked in but didn't smile,

"Evening love … how are you."

"Fine."

"Are you sure … you seem a bit …"

"A bit what? Tired?"

"I don't know … are you tired?" he ventured hopefully.

"Yes. I'm very tired. Because after I took Nina to the doctors for her immunisations, dropped her off at the crèche, came home and finally got off to sleep – you rang me to ask about your bloody F1! Woke me up – so I couldn't get back to sleep."

"Oh … sorry. I thought you'd be up anyway for Nina."

"You rang me at three in the afternoon! You know I'm on nights! You _assumed_ that even though I was on last night, and on tonight, that I would be fine with taking Nina to the doctors! And then would be equally bloody OK with you waking me up to ask a favour for your F1!"

"I didn't think you'd mind."

"No Patrick – you just didn't think."

"Hang on love -"

"No, don't you _love_ me Patrick. I'm pissed off. I just wish you'd use your head once in a while … I'm sick of being just a cog in the machine that is the Turner family."

"You're not a cog."

"Well I bloody feel like one at the moment … Kathy rang today."

"Right?"

"It's the 10 year memorial for Clare."

"Well that's OK isn't it? I mean … you're fine with that's aren't you."

"I'm fine with _that _it's just … Kathy doesn't want me there, she thinks it would be weird."

"What? Kathy said that?"

"Or words to that effect. She said that she was worried that I might feel a bit awkward if I had to sit there listening to everyone saying how wonderful Clare was and how happy you were together."

Patrick sighed and took a step closer, reaching out for his wife she shrugged him away and turned towards the sink, her back to him and started running the tap.

"I understand that she's Clair's sister and that I'm your second wife but … I'm a Turner, Nina's a Turner too and … I don't know. I'm just pissed off, pissed off at you for waking me up and assuming I'd be OK with it, pissed off at Kathy for trying to write me out of the Turner family and I'm pissed off at myself for being a bitter selfish cow – for being annoyed that my husband's dead ex-wife's sister doesn't want me at her sister's memorial."

"So generally pissed off then?"

"Generally pissed off yeah."

"Look Shelagh – Kathy likes you, she's always liked you! I think maybe she's trying to be tactful in a spectacularly untactful way."

"Yeah ... I need to go." She replied quietly, bending down she picked her rucksack off the floor,

"Shelagh," Patrick said softly, catching her wrist as she went to pass him, "I'm sorry for waking you up."

"It's OK, I'll check my diary tonight for your F1 … what was her name again?"

"Patsy … Patsy Mount."

"OK."

"I love you."

"I love you too." she replied with a half-smile, but left quickly without kissing him. Sighing as he heard the front door shut Patrick turned off the pasta and called through to the living room.

"Tim! Come and drain the spaghetti for me … I've got a phone call to make."

* * *

Removing her hand, Shelagh smiled broadly as she stripped off her glove and went to bin it,

"Well Chloe, your baby's starting to get a wriggle on!"

"Oh thank God! How is it looking down there?"

"Coming along nicely – we're up to 8cm I'd say."

"Does it always take this long?"

"And longer I'm afraid – babies are cruel, they like their mothers to go through the wringer a bit before they make an appearance. I'll be back in a little while – OK?"

"Ok – thanks." with another smile Shelagh left the room, collecting a bundle of notes on the way out. Slipping into the staff room she flicked on the kettle and sat down to fill in her paperwork, the ward was quiet tonight, or as quiet as it ever got. It gave her a little rest bite, and a chance to actually finish a cup of tea for a change. She felt a little guilty, she always did when she and Patrick argued, but things hadn't been good between them lately, and she tried to justify the argument to herself by arguing that it was better to get things out in the open rather than bottling them up to brew and fester.

Part of the problem was that she felt as though they were going through the motions, the spark and flair of their relationship had burnt out recently and she found herself more and more feeling like his lodger and less and less like his wife. She still loved him, completely and utterly, she knew that much at least, but – something had gone. The days of teasing and joking and passion had passed, and given way to silence and distance,

"Hi." looking around to see who her companion was she smiled broadly.

"Julie – hi, how are you?"

"I'm good, just waiting for the surgeons to be ready for my lady in 6. How are you?"

"Fine."

"No you're not … I know you."

"I'm fine, just tired."

"Not convinced," She said sternly, sitting herself down opposite her friend, "What's wrong Shelagh?"

"Nothing … nothing's wrong it's just … me and Patrick had a bit of a row."

"Oh dear, but nothing a night in with a Chinese and bottle of wine won't cure … or?"

"I'm sure you're right … we're just a bit … oh I don't know. _Meh_ at the moment."

"Meh?"

"Like ships passing in the night, I just don't feel like his wife very much anymore."

"Because?"

"Because I never see him, and when I do, it's listening to him whinge about work, or watching him fiddling about with work on his laptop … and there's other things too."

"Such as? Did you want tea by the way?"

"Yes thanks, well … Kathy's doing a ten year memorial thing for Clare and … she doesn't want me there."

"Right … blimey. You know, Patrick thinks the world of you. But he is a man … and men are liable to be a bit rubbish from time to time, does he know how you feel about Kathy's memorial for Clare?"

"Yeah, that's how what the argument started."

"If I was being diplomatic I would say that it must be hard for Kathy, I mean as much as she likes you, you're her brother in law's new wife … as cruel as it sounds; she lost a sister, Patrick lost a wife, and Tim lost his mother – you lost nothing. And equally for Patrick – I can imagine him feeling a little guilty mourning the loss of his first love, with the love of his life on his arm … but if I am being honest, I know Patrick, and I know that he'll want you there for moral support when he goes to the memorial, and I know that Kathy, in her heart of hearts, knows that Clare would want Patrick to be happy, and that you make him happy."

"So … what's the answer?"

"There is no one answer I'm afraid my dear. But … don't fight with Patrick – this'll be horrible for him – and he needs your support. And hope that … whatever happens – it's the right decision for _everyone_."

* * *

_I've been waiting, all my life for someone like you to come mess with my mind. Someone crazy, someone who, someone who'll love me the way I loved you. I keep searching and what's worse, now that you're gone all that's left is the hurt._

Shelagh pulled out her ipod earphones as she pushed open the front door, and wheeled in her bicycle. Resting it against the wall she hung up her coat and wandered into the kitchen, Patrick was stood against the kitchen counter in his work suit, nursing a cup of tea,

"Morning love, how was work?"

"Fine, long – but successful. How was your evening?"

"Quiet … I uh … tea?"

"Please."

"I spoke to Kathy last night."

"What? Really?"

"Mmhmm, I wanted to talk about Clare's memorial – and you coming. Because … I need you there. I'm not sure if this is what you want to hear but … I love Clare, I always did and I always will. But I love you too – I mean, you make me happy, you make everything better – and I never want to be apart from you because you are … wonderful. And I can't sit through Clare's memorial without you, and I don't want to have to -" Shelagh heard a lump rise in her husband's throat as he quickly glanced up at the ceiling. Stepping forward she ran a hand across his forearm and reached for his hand, "I know I've been a bit of a shitty husband lately."

"You haven't."

"No I have … I've been wrapped up in myself, and work and Clare and I've not been fair to you."

"No you haven't been fair, but neither have I … talk to me, when you need to – talk to me. Because other whys this happens and we're at each other's throats. What did Kathy say?"

"She said it was up to us essentially." he replied. Shelagh smiled, lacing her fingers through his she reached up to his shoulder with her free hand,

"So," she asked. "What do you want to do?"

"It's not my decision to make."

"I want to go – if _you_ want me there. Julie said last night that you lost your wife and Tim lost his mother … and I didn't lose anyone. So if I'm going, I'm going to support you and Tim, not because it's my right to go as a Turner."

"She's a wise woman."

"I've never met a wiser one."

* * *

"It's been ten years since I lost my sister, ten years since I lost my best friend and ten years since I lost the kindest, most honest and most loving woman in the world. I miss her every day … and it never gets any easier. When Clare passed she left behind a wonderful son, Tim – who I know she would be so proud of to see sat here today, and her fantastic husband Paddy – who I know has done her proud in raising their son. Before I hand over to Paddy – I think it's time to raise our glasses: To Clare!"

"To Clare."

"Thank you Kathy … Clare was a wonderful mother, a wonderful wife, and a brilliant teacher. Professionally and personally there was no one else like her … one of a kind. The first gamble I ever took was asking her out, it was one of the best gambles I ever took, and I could never regret it. She was so full of joy and life and imagining a world without her is almost impossible … She loved life, and she was never happier than when she was making other people happy – Clare loved to spread joy and love to anyone and everyone she met, which is why … as hard as a life without her is, as impossible as it is to comprehend that that light and spark has disappeared from the earth … I know that she would be happy with the life I've made for me and our son Tim … A wise man once said 'happiness is the absence of pain' and as painful as it was, and is to have lost Clare … the balm that sooths is to move on and to continue with life, to find solace in the future and to love. So … in the interests of happiness, let's rid ourselves of pain – with Clare's favourite method: a large glass of white! To Clare!"


End file.
